


Ask

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 100-1000 Words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-07
Updated: 2010-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds





	Ask

Ray is sitting too close, he always sits too close, and his knee is bumping mine and when he starts pulling pastries out of the paper bag crumbs fly all over me.

I start brushing them off but he flattens the paper bag across my knees, spreads everything he bought from the bakery on it. Using me for a table. I try to give him a glare but he grins and I can feel the glare not working, so I settle for a blank look. I often settle for a blank look at him, lately.

"So, whatcha want?" he says.

I can't bring myself to say anything. The last few days, everything he says makes me feel like this, as if I can't manage to answer the most commonplace, innocuous question without saying something that I'm sure he doesn't want to hear.

He starts picking up the pastries, waving them at me. "We got some sort of raisiny thing, three sorts of chocolatey things, a cinnamony thing. Oh, and a stuffed thing with, whatsit called, ricotta and _broccoli_. Whatcha want?"

I clear my throat. "It really doesn't matter, Ray. They all look good."

"Yes, it does. And no, they don't. What—do—you—_want_?"

"Whichever you don't want. Really."

"You _know_ which one I don't want. And I know which one _you_ want. I don't _understand_ it, but I _know_ it. Why don't you ask for it, Fraser?"

Because asking for what I want leads to, to a vanishing Victoria, to Vecchio in Vegas, to all the horrible things that begin with V. I am apparently losing my mind.

He starts waving the ricotta-and-broccoli-stuffed one under my nose. It smells really quite appealing, and I'm tired and hungry and getting angry.

"Ask," he says.

"Ray, you're being--"

"_Ask_."

He leans in close, his chin almost on my shoulder, and he smells better than the ricotta, and good god is he doing this on purpose? Surely that would be beneath him. Beneath him sounds like a wonderful place. Yes, unquestionably losing my mind; thank you so much for the genetic legacy, Uncle Tiberius.

His spiky hair brushes my temple, and I can't help it, I make a tiny little noise. And out of the corner of my eye I can see him _smiling_ when I do that...not one of his kind smiles. A narrowed-eyes sort of smile, and god help me, he _is_ doing this on purpose.

He slowly lifts all the pastries off my knees, one at a time, puts them on the coffee table, brushes a few crumbs off my pants but not nearly high enough. I'm shaking.

Puts his chin back to my shoulder, so close to my ear and says, "Ask for what you want." His voice makes a slow chill furl down my spine, and I can only gasp raggedly. He presses in closer, and I close my eyes because I'm a coward and I can't look at him anymore, at his long legs stretched against mine, his long fingers digging into my thigh now. His lips are actually touching my ear when he says, "Ask ask ask," and I can't, I just can't, I can barely _breathe_, but somehow on the next exhale I make the smallest sound, the faintest little "You," and he whispers "Good boy," and I don't have time to think about how terrifying _that_ is before he's all over me.

 

\--END--

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